ustxtxb_obs_1981_09_25_50_00024-00000_000.pdf

502 W. 15th Street Austin, Texas 78701 REALTOR Representing all types of properties in Austin and Central Texas Interesting & unusual property a specialty. 477-3651 .\\.1-1 and Associates I i t Life Insurance and Annuities STYle Martin Elfant, CLU 4223 Richmond, Suite 213, Houston, TX 77027 Postmaster: If undeliverable, send Form 3579 to The Texas Observer, 600 W. 7th, Austin, Texas 78701 blues shouters with something, of the gritty intensity of such screamers as Little Richard and the late Otis Redding.” TOO LATE, now, we realized that we were seated directly under the yawriing, victrola-like mouth, as big as our table, from which would blare forth and down against us, the sound. I guess all that Mr. Palmer writes about Mr. Copeland in the Times is true. What I learned from the evening, though, is something about the nature of leadership. Leadership is to be good, to know that, and to know exactly what to do with those two facts. I could not hear more than about a third of the lyrics of the songs Copeland sang. You who have swayed and tapped in Preservation Hall in New Orleans will understand when I say that Copeland’s group has the rhythm of the great Southern blues singers, but the volume of Bible screamers set to rock. My companion and I, sensible that we should like to be able to hear the leaves rustle when we are d enough to rest, barred our ears as well as we could against the thunderclapping noise, I with my hand beside her head, my fingers across her endangered ear, and as for mine on the same side, ducking it down onto her hair. Who ever heard of even an all-purpose journalist sitting in as music reporter presuming, under such circumstances, to evaluate a totally deafening performance? \(In fairness, as a member of the band explained to me afterward, the group’s regular sound man was off that Anyway, Mr. Palmer has given us his evaluation, and although only, in the main, from watching, I agree with him. About an hour was passed onstage before Copeland came on. After the tuning-up time, the band, absent their ANDERSON & COMPANY COFFEE TEA SPICES TWO JEFFERSON SWAM?. AUSTIN, TEXAS W731 512 453-1533 Send me your list. Name Street City Zip leader, swung into some hard-driving, knee-unjointing instrumentals. It was at once clear that Johnny Pratt of North Carolina was the leader then on the stage. In his syncopated body exuberance he conveyed such a poised Southern balance of abandon and selfconfidence, anyone watching him knew that he was good before he put the trumpet to his lips. When, then, he did, the clarity and strength of his gift were like a keening in the wind. Once, through a series of preparatory twitches, he worked up, everyone watching him for the moment when this tremendous sprouting woundersound would sail forth from his instrument, and after still more of his spontaneous ado he lifted his trumpet to his lips and had no part to play. It was another of those elaborate practical jokes those Southern boys do love. Came Copeland, Johnny Copeland, now a star, for the Times not merely hails stars, the Times makes them, and we all knew that; most of all he knew it. He wore a dark pinstripe suit with a loosefitting, but buttoned-up vest, he played his electric guitar, without a patter he began to sing, and he sang and sang for a good long time. What there is about him most of all, \(of that which can be seen riousness. He does not smile or act, he sings. His eyes close down on his inner self as he feels the song and lives it singing. I think his power, and he has the power, is expressed most of all in his refusal to joke or act. Now the genial, chubby Johnny Pratt, who’s white, stood back behind, beside the star, never once bidding for attention, frequently watching Copeland sharply out of the corners of his eyes, playing second place with a grace and respect that really made him Copeland’s colleague in leadership as no sly rivalry could have done. Not once did Copeland glance at this fellow who could be his challenger for mesmeric power in our little theater. Copeland knew his songs and he just sang them out. The girl who wouldn’t let him be, or was it the woman who wasn’t there, or the time he couldn’t go, or the day it rained. As he finished he said the only thing he said talking, something strange which however I may have misheard in my bruised, twang-echoing ears. “I hope you liked it,” Johnny Copeland said, “but I’m not saying.” Johnny Copeland of Magnolia, Arkansas, and Houston, Texas, and John Pratt of North Carolina and their friends, whamming the Southwestern blues sound down the throats of the ears of our small multitude on East Fifteenth Street in New York City, this special September night in 1981. pm MilipmmlimiimmiNNMENmel PUT YOUR BELIEFS INTO ACTION…. Invest I in Open Housing Help fight racial segregation. Invest in a non-profit fund which finances affordable mortgages for minorities and whites making housing moves that foster racially diverse neighborhoods. For facts, clip and mail to: 013 6 Morris Milgram Fund for an OPEN Society 1901 East-West Highway, T-2 Silver Spring, MD 20910 Address: Zip . This is not an offer to sell these securities The offering is I made only by the Investment Description available only in states where these securities may be offered IN MI ME 24 SEPTEMBER 25, 1981